


Kept Captive

by angelheadedhipster, FlameBlownWhiter, nitpickyabouttrains



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Complete, Crack, M/M, Planet Hulk, Slash, blame the shipping news, gladiators?, gratuitous descriptions of eyes, groupwrite, it's called shapeshifting and Loki can totally do it, sand and blood, sorry everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/pseuds/FlameBlownWhiter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door on the other side of the arena opened and a shock went through Loki, awakening parts of him he had long thought dormant. Parts of him he was sure had been a blood-fueled illusion. He stood to get a better look, to be certain. </p><p>The Hulk walked out into the sun. They had given him minor armor to protect his green flesh - hide or something like it - and he had chains wrapped around his hands and an axe strapped to his back. </p><p>Blood trickled unnoticed onto the sand-covered floor of the arena as Loki's nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Loki

**Author's Note:**

> The Shipping News posted this http://slashcolumn.tumblr.com/post/48009426853. I sent it to two of my friends. This happened.
> 
> Sorry/you're welcome?
> 
>  
> 
> This is also our first fic so comments/love is super appreciated!!

Thor often visited his brother's cell once back in Asgard. Loki was always staring off into the distance - stoic and contemplative. Whenever Thor asked what it was his brother thought of, Loki sneered at him. 

"Your entrails on the floor, brother."

Or some similar insult. He could never tell him what he was really thinking about. About the quiet man with the dark eyes, those strong green arms, and the pain they shared. It is never wise to give your enemy a tactical advantage such as that. Only slightly less wise is possessing such a disadvantage - but Loki seemed unable to quiet his stirring mind. 

It was far after the fighting was done, after the heroes had saved the day and Loki had been detained. But it was not the sting of defeat that stuck in Loki's mind. It was not the foolish speeches he had made when he thought he was winning, either. 

No; it was the sheer elation he had felt, lying broken on the ground, Hulk-smashed. 

And, oh, what he would give to return to that moment. The spark of power that had coursed through the firm grip of Hulk's hand on his own body. 

Loki knew something about power kept contained, about that which was hidden within and what happened when it was brought out. He knew something about dark sides, and about how much effort it took to control them. He knew something about the loss of that control.

I could help him, Loki thought. Help him be who he really is. Break the control of those idiot heroes, those puny humans, his stupid "godly" brother. He started imagining the power of a Hulk unleashed, a Hulk on his side, assisting him with his plans instead of constantly thwarting him. The idea was inspiring, intoxicating. All that power - what could Hulk do with him? To him? 

It was many wars later before he and Bruce Banner saw each other again - for both of them. Worlds had been snuffed out, the whole galaxy had roared and shook with the might of Thanos, and again was quieted by the most unlikely of heroes. Loki had been betrayed by and reunited with Thor, had forgave his brother and been forgiven more times than he could count. 

Odin father had passed. 

Thor's time was now, and though he and his brother had long since rejoined each other on the battlefield against their enemies, there was no place left for him in Asgard. Thor had begged Loki to stay, but he could not; he would always be tempted. 

He was tempted now. Which is why he had found himself on this rocky, half-formed planet. Its inhabitants, a gladiatorial class of sorts - all brute, almost no brains - were at least better than those monkeys his brother preferred. Well, their antics did provide a sort of distraction. 

Loki sat in the arena, as the screaming and cheering of the crowd around him made his blood sing. A new gladiator was coming on the field. 

He was large for their kind, at least eight feet tall with jagged scales the color of cloves. His shoulder and head scales so large and uniquely shaped that they resembled a kind of Asgardian armor, an armor that spoke of ancient times. The gladiator carried a sword half his size that hooked at the end. 

Loki licked his lips, anticipating the blood, imagining its metallic tang. 

The door on the other side of the arena opened and a shock went through Loki, awakening parts of him he had long thought dormant. Parts of him he was sure had been a blood-fueled illusion. He stood to get a better look, to be certain. 

The Hulk walked out into the sun. They had given him minor armor to protect his green flesh - hide or something like it - and he had chains wrapped around his hands and an axe strapped to his back. 

Blood trickled unnoticed onto the sand-covered floor of the arena as Loki's nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm. 

Loki leaned forward without meaning to, observing his old foe prepare for battle. There was something unchanging about Hulk, something constant and almost comforting, even standing there in the blood-soaked arena. It was the same beast who had once defeated him by sheer brute force. 

Yet something about the look in Hulk's eyes made Loki's breath catch in his throat. They no longer shone with the grief and passion and humanity they once had. Now they just held anger.

The fight was over way too fast; now the audience was howling its disappointment and brandishing knives at the officials. Loki uncurled his nails from his palms, his mind whirring, his body pulsing with something he couldn’t yet identify. As he'd watched the Hulk destroy the other player Loki had expected to feel echoes of his own shameful destruction at the Hulk’s hands, or even, perhaps, some concern for this old foe in a strange place, or for the other player so brutally destroyed. He expected to feel the usual bloodlust and amusement he felt at these games, especially at the ones that got as bloody and gory as this one did.

Instead, Loki mused as he got up from his box seats and headed to the stairs down to the arena, he felt...want. Pure, all-encompassing, all-encroaching desire, acquisitiveness, greed, the urge to have and keep and that no one else could touch. 

Loki was no stranger to this emotion; it was one of the ones he felt most often, the one he had structured his life around for so long. It was the physical yearning as he stood next to Odin's throne on Asgard, it was the gleam of the infinity gauntlet as it reflected in his eye. He had never felt it about a person before.

But the Hulk wasn't a person, Loki thought as he opened a locked and barred door with a wave of his hand, the door that led down to the pits. The Hulk was a weapon. And Loki knew exactly what to do with weapons.

The gladiators, those not dead or dying, came to the door of their cells as Loki approached. The light from the alien torches threw shadows on their faces. In the half light some looked like children; Loki loved the games, but this part, it went against his Asgardian upbringing. Warriors should be free and celebrated, or dead with honor; not caged. 

Thor in the human prison, begging for forgiveness.

Well, he’d learned a lot since then – and not the easy way.

Loki paused and turned. No one had come to the door of this particular cell, but he had thought he had heard something. Noises in arena pits were common - yells, howls, screams - but a snarl, almost a growl? Loki stepped towards the cage. 

It was pitch black inside the cell, and even with his enhanced eyesight, Loki had to squint to make out the shape within. The creature was huddled along the far wall, large and craggy, a roughly hewn boulder. Loki watched closely and it was not until he saw the breathing, the slow rise and fall of the green stony flesh, that he was even sure whoever was in the cage was alive. 

Loki released a breath he did not know he was holding. He feared for Hulk’s life. 

“Leave,” growled the creature in the cell, barely a word at all.

“I would speak with you,” Loki said, his speech coming out weaker than he wanted it to, a scratch in his voice whose origin he would not acknowledge. 

A shadow shifted within the cell and Loki took a step back, unintentionally, into the pale light.

The monster in the cage shifted forward, his shoulders almost reaching the ceiling even as he lay in a crouch. Huge green eyes, pools of shifting emerald, swarmed into view, shining in the darkness. They narrowed as they saw Loki.

"I know you," said Hulk. 

"Yes," said Loki, his voice shaking. Stop that, he thought to himself. You have the upper hand, he is a slave and a puppet, you can control everything about him.

"Didn't I punch you once already, puny god?" said Hulk. 

"That was a long time ago," said Loki, ignoring the shudder that went through his body as he remembered that moment. You're in control now, he thought. He can't hurt you. The shuddering stopped, but it seemed to have settled in his stomach. "Things have become very different." He paused, wanting the Hulk to remember his cage, his wounds, and how he got there. "For both of us."

The vast green eyes narrowed, and a huff of air came out of the cage, nearly making Loki sway. Hulk started to turn away.

"I can help you," said Loki, quickly, waiting for those eyes to focus on him again.

Hulk stopped, neither turning around nor going back into his cell.

"I can get you out," said Loki. He felt powerful again, like he should be. "One word from me and this door unlocks. I could buy every being in here, if I wanted to. I could own this arena, all the lives and deaths that happen here. Letting you out would be easy."

Hulk's massive head rolled towards him slowly.. He blinked at Loki, his expression even more impassive than it usually was, a slight sneer held in check. The Hulk breathed like a mountain - slow, deep, unstoppable.

"Why?" said the Hulk, after several moments.

"I need you," said Loki, his eyes as unflinching as he could make them.

"What could you need of me, little god?" 

Loki shifted in the sand, appraising Hulk's shoulders. Muscles that weaved and turned under green flesh, broader than any from Asgard - even his brothers’. 

"Your strength."

Hulk turned on him then, and with the speed he would have felt was impossible from a man of his size, had Loki not known better. The beast's hands wrapped around his bars and his teeth were bared inches from Loki's throat. The bars buzzed, electricity pouring through the alien compound and Hulk howled but did not let go. 

"And for what purpose could you use a strength such as mine?" Pale blue sparks were crackling along the lines of Hulk's hands and his eyes danced with the alien flame. Was this a test? 

Loki could not help wondering what would bring the Hulk to this planet, now, and what would make him listen. Loki's looked, unblinking, into the depths of Hulk's eyes, and what he saw was familiar. 

He stepped toward the cage and lowered his voice. "There are always those who need to be avenged."

Avenged. The word echoed between them, heavy with meaning. Avenged. The single idea which had simultaneously brought them together and torn them apart. Bright blue eyes met deep emerald as both unearthly men contemplated one another. 

It was no simple request, Loki knew, bracing himself for an argument. Hulk would never agree to side with his old enemy without good reason. 

Hulk's eyes flashed and he let go of the electrified bars. "No."

"At least hear my offer," Loki asked, trying again, confident enough in his own power of words and trickery.

Loki observed the great Hulk before him. His collarbone and chest flecked with blood, spattered across his broad expanse still from the fight. Loki knew the blood belonged to the defeated opponent, but it still gave Hulk an injured appearance. 

"I cannot," Hulk turned his back, walking away, "I cannot leave this place. Not yet. I must still make amends". 

"Amends?" said Loki. He squinted into the darkness of the cage but couldn't see the Hulk now, just vaguely moving shapes and rolling shadows. It was unsettling. "To whom? Who do you owe?"

A sound that might have been a snort, magnified ten thousand times, came from inside the cage. "You would never understand," said Hulk's voice.

Loki drew himself up to his full height, which was impressive to humans, if not to the Hulk. He made the air around him flash green for a second, just to get his frustration out. Loki hated it when people said he couldn't do things. Hated it.

The Hulk's eyes were looking towards him now, pools of green in the darkness of the cage, floating without a face. Loki's flash had made them brighten for a second, an answering gleam in the dark.

"The people here," said Hulk. "The other gladiators. Slaves. They need help. I can get them out, out of this planet, out of slavery. They need me."

This time Loki's flash of frustration lit up the whole hallway. These stupid, stupid people. These heroes. Take them out of their world, halfway across the universe, dump them on some unfamiliar planet, put them in chains and make them fight and humiliate them, and still, still! They find someone they need to save, some way to "help," some way to play the avenging angel and save the world. By Odin's beard, it was irritating.

Loki took a deep breath. "Either way," he said. "You can't be much help to them in that cage. Let me let you out." He'd figure out some way to get him away from this planet later.

Hulk moved into the light again. "If you open this cage," he said, staring down at Loki, his voice a steady rumble, "where do I go from there?"

Loki grinned with all of his teeth. "With me, of course."

Hulk looked into him as if evaluating the worth of his words, of his soul. 

"No." Loki's hand crackled with power at the response. Hulk raised a moss-colored eyebrow and continued, "Not now. Not until I have a plan for these people. But soon."

Loki sneered, "And I suppose you just expect me to wait around?"

"If you have changed as you say you have; if you need me, as you implied earlier? Yes." Hulk's voice was rough and Loki's cheeks burned with both guilt and shame. "Soon," the Hulk's voice quieted, "You will stay, yes?" 

Loki couldn't breathe. There was something happening here that he couldn't identify, something like kinship, something real. 

"Yes. I will stay." Loki's ice blue Jötunn eyes widened frantically, searching for movement in the shadows, as the last of Hulk's body disappeared into the darkness of the cell. When nothing came, no word or sight, he turned to leave. 

"You have changed much, Loki of Asgard. Don't make me a liar." Hearing his name in the voice of the beast, rough as gravel, sent a shiver to those places Loki had dreamed dead. 

He turned his head and over his shoulder and spoke - not wanting to reveal the effects of that voice on his person. "And you. Tell me, are you now more beast or man?" 

"That has yet to be decided."


	2. Part II: Hulk

It no longer mattered how Hulk came to be where he was, in a cell, in an arena, on a planet distant from his own. Even how he had merged from two distinct lives, as Bruce Banner and Hulk, into one sentient being no longer concerned him. 

No matter where he was, Hulk's prison traveled with him. Images of what he had seen and what he had done clung to his mind. He was haunted by deeds long since forgotten by the rest of time. 

Until the very moment Loki said he would wait, Hulk thought he was doomed to his shadows, alone. 

But there had been a gleam in the icy sapphire eyes that had stared at him through the bars, from the light. And Hulk believed Loki had spoken true. 

Not that he trusted him, of course. No one smart trusted Loki - his full name was Loki, the Trickster God, after all. And the Hulk didn't trust anyone, anyway. Not now. Not after what happened. Not here.

It was a novelty, though, to have someone from his old life here. From his old world. Sometimes Hulk forgot this wasn't his planet, forgot there was a world he had come from before he got here, a world with hamburgers and landscaped traffic islands and skyscrapers and glass windows. Loki had brought all of that back - the world he had been part of, the fights he'd been in. The Avengers. His friends, or so he thought. Now he knew that friends weren't something that the Hulk had. Allies, yes. Enemies, of course. Not friends. Not anymore.

But there was Loki. He was still there. Hulk got used to the flash of silver eyes from the stands, watching him fight. Every province, every horrible bloody battle, every new lead Hulk was chasing down, Loki was there, at least for part of it. Hulk found himself looking for that flash, unconsciously, out of the corner of his eye, and seeing it where it wasn't - someone's jeweled pin, the sun reflecting off shiny scales - and being disappointed every time. Finally, though, Loki would appear, as if he'd always been there, sitting in a box by himself, his face impassive, his eyes glinting, following Hulk as he moved and parried and thrust and lunged. 

What was he thinking? Was he even really there? Maybe it was a projection; he remembered what Loki could do, and how many times Thor (Thor, a name that rose out of the mists and brought with it so many memories that he shoved it back down immediately) had fallen for his tricks. Maybe Loki wasn't even on this planet, maybe he was projecting himself from far away, just to trick Hulk, although he couldn't quite imagine why. Maybe all of the Lokis in the stands, the Loki who had come to him in his cage and talked to him, the Loki who said he would stay - maybe none of them were real bodies. Hulk remembered the flashes of green, the shudder Loki tried to hide when Hulk threatened him, the twitch at his brow when Hulk had said no. If it was a projection, it was an incredibly detailed one.

The bridge of his nose was wrinkling now, between those cold sharp eyes, something Hulk was coming to realize meant annoyance, although Loki tried to keep his emotions as cold as his eyes. "We have been here," said Loki in clipped tones, "for months. I do not understand why we are still here."

Hulk allowed himself to look at the Norse-like god in front of him while he sought to put into words why he needed to stay. Loki dressed down, he supposed, for the arenas, although there was always an air around him of capes and mantles and winged helmets, of royalty and power. He was wearing black leather, skintight, expensive, and probably, Hulk mused, very soft to the touch. Green stripes ran down the sides - Loki couldn't be anywhere without his green - accentuating the lines and planes of his legs and hitching over his pelvis. Unlike most creatures on this desert planet, he was actually wearing a shirt, but it was loose and white, with gold spreading out to the shoulders. Hulk suddenly wondered if the pale god got sunburned, an image that was surprisingly delicious. His skin was still smooth and creamy, but it had gone a shade darker after months in the desert sun, the color of honey in milk. Hulk looked at his hands, the callouses and sand under the nails, very earthbound for a god. 

Bringing his gaze up to his face, he let himself study the hard line of his lips, so pink in his face - not something he saw much around here, soft pink lips like that. They were twitching now, as if Loki was having trouble controlling them, the motion tightening the skin over those high taut cheekbones, his eyebrows dipping. Pulling his focus back, the Hulk realized he knew what that expression was, he had just never seen it on Loki's face. It was the expression of someone who is uncomfortable being looked at, but doesn't want it to stop. 

A slow grin spread over the Hulk’s face, and he laughed, knowing it was unsettling to hear a mountain laugh. Definitely a real body.

And that body was different around him, that much was becoming clear. At first he thought Loki might have wanted nothing more than some adventure, a story worth bragging about in Asgard. But the scent that rolled off of him, every night in the cells, spoke of some deeper desire. That same enticing aroma wafted from him now. 

It was intoxicating. Heady. If he must be honest he never gave it much thought, but now with the godling in front of him wrapped like a present in leather and sharp bone, he had to admit: there was some appeal. 

Sometimes the Hulk forgot what it was like before this. Before the red sun, the blood, and the sands. Nothing seemed to matter in here; nothing existed past the gleaming hope in his brother’s eyes -- all gladiators were brothers in the arena -- the deafening cheer of the spectators, and the steady stare of a certain green-clad figure in the crowd. But could he be trusted?

Can a man like that truly be redeemed?

It was a hard question to answer. Hulk knew all about that; he asked it of himself regularly.

He turned away from Loki, to give his senses some reprieve. "You know why we are here. But I swear, the time grows close." 

Loki choked back a whine. Hulk smiled; this might be quite entertaining.

"On your feet, slave!" A roar, more like a screech, came echoing from above. It was time to face today's challenger. He turned back towards Loki, but he was already gone. 

 

 

On the sands stood Paolo. Paolo measured just 6 feet tall, his translucent flesh giving off a certain heat. The Banner half of his brain filled in the rest: lava, perhaps? If the legends his brothers told of him were true, he was the only gladiator to ever be granted his freedom; the money he caused the Dominus in slaves was too high. He had never been defeated. 

But he had returned as a hired brute, lured to the arena by the prize the Dominus offered for the man who could take his head. Many had tried. 

Paolo was unique; Hulk could not smell anything but his heat – a disadvantage in the arena. The Hulk smiled; he always did like a challenge. 

The crowd erupted, forcing Hulk’s thoughts upwards, always upwards, to the dais where the Dominus stood announcing the challenger. The Hulk needed no such introduction on these sands. Hulk ignored the announcer’s manipulative words and stared down his opponent – Paolo’s red eyes, pits of flame in a foreign face. He only heard one word, the most important word: Begin. 

They had ceased giving him weapons long ago. Instead he depended on his strength and the spiked chain wrapped around his hands. The chain was just as likely to cut him as it would his challengers, but he didn't mind it now; the pain kept him focused. He charged across the arena, dragging the chain, kicking blood-stained sand in his wake. Hulk pivoted and turned mere seconds from contact, a cloud of dust erupting into the air and blinding the two combatants. 

Hulk dodged a punch aimed at midsection and delivered one of his own into Paolo’s side. The plasma heat of Paolo’s skin burned his hand, brought out the rage. The roar.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” Paolo’s voice rang out clear and strong. 

Hulk snorted and lunged again.  
Hulk entered into every fight with the same clear intent, the same urge to win. He was of one mind out on the bloodied sands. Hulk was stronger, he was faster, and he was more vicious than any of the other gladiators. He knew this. And so did all of his opponents.

But this fight was different. This was the one. The trigger. When the moment was right and the fight was at its apex, the signal would be given.

And the madness would begin.

It had taken months to get the word out to the other slaves. Whispers passed in the dead of night, under the cover of darkness. One by one Hulk had to make sure that every single other creature knew that this day, when he fought with Paolo once more, would be the day in which they broke free. They would throw off their chains as one, and use those very metal links which had once held them captive as a weapon against their oppressors.

From across the field, Paolo charged at Hulk, letting out a blood-curdling screech. His broadsword swinging above his head, Paolo closed the space left open between the two fighters.

The sword’s movements were telegraphed and Hulk had no trouble getting himself out of the way of the lethal blows. Spinning out of the way and around behind his opponent, he used the momentum Paolo had already going forward to push the warrior down.

Hulk pegged the other fighter to the sand, his elbow in the small of Paolo’s back. Every inch of his skin that touched Paolo felt as if it were on fire. Or possibly turning to ash. Paolo’s skin rippled under his touch, burning Hulk. But Hulk held on to his position of power over his opponent. You did not win in the arena by just pinning your foe. You had to kill or maim, impart some sort of debilitating blow. Hulk had not done that yet.

And he was waiting. Waiting for the exact right moment. Because that was the sign.

When the audience was riled up, standing and shouting for him to kill the hired man, the energy in the arena would be at its peak. And that would be the time.

Hulk chanced a glance up at the audience, as he was wont to do, looking for that flash of silver. Loki’s part in all this was to start the riot from the stands. It would be the distraction needed, that would start the chaos.

In the stands, Loki was focusing on the Hulk, concentrating his glacial blue stare on the taut arm muscles and willing all his strength for the clenched emerald fists that were pinning Paolo down.

The action in the arena seemed to almost freeze in place. A stiff breeze blew through, lifting Loki's glossy black hair and rippling it tantalizingly across the bare back of his neck. It carried the seductive smell of salty sweat, and of promise. He inhaled deeply, curling his toes and straightening his back. A gleam of anticipation glinted hard in his smiling eyes. He was ready.  
There was a sharp crack, and the whole arena was suddenly in darkness. Hulk grinned and threw back his head, roaring, his own bellow sounding above the terrified screams and confused shouts of the audience. Bright flashes of green and gold light shot across the stands, blinding some people and lighting the way for others, turning the sky into a chaotic mess that mirrored the moving tide of panicked bodies below. 

Hulk took his knees off Paolo, laughing at the lights in the sky and the fevered screams of his oppressors. This was fun. Maybe he would stick around with Loki after this after all; it was handy to have a guy who could do things like this. He knew he had a job to do, several jobs, things he had worked for months to put into motion, but he stood there gazing around him for several seconds. This was the moment he had worked for, why shouldn't he revel in it? 

Light slammed back into the arena in one fell swoop, as Loki released his hold on everyone there. The gladiators were storming the stands, arranged as Hulk had taught them, aiming for the slavemasters that held the chains and whips and obedience discs. Hulk had his own part to play in what would follow, but first he looked toward the stands, finding that spark of silver on black. Loki stood with his hands outstretched, panting heavily, a light sheen of sweat on his face from the magic he'd just performed. He caught Hulk's eye, and did something Hulk had never seen him do before: he grinned. A broad, beaming smile, not a grimace or a smirk or a sneer. It changed his whole face, those ice blue eyes crinkling up and those austere cheeks folding in on themselves in joy. Suddenly instead of a powerful and formidable god he looked like a little boy who had pulled off a particularly naughty trick. 

Hulk grinned back, as much as his monster face allowed him to, and felt a sense of lightness and release and...joy pass over him. We're going to win this, he thought. This and everything else we ever do. And he ran off to decapitate the master of slaves.

Hulk bounded forward, leaping high in the air. The frozen faces of fear -- “deer in headlights,” Stark would have said -- were satisfying as the Hulk came crashing onto the dais, wood splintering under the force of his weight. He smiled and they screamed.

Had the slavers known that the Hulk could jump such heights, they never would have allowed him on the sands.

He took one earth-shaking step toward them. The younger men and women ran into the hands of Baltos and Vixus - his lieutenants - and with a crack their screaming was silenced.

Hulk stared down at his Dominus, P'Latarii of the Kreet, as he advanced. The man was still, in shock, as he watched his death advancing upon him. Hulk barely registered Vixus screaming at him to duck and it didn't matter, it was too late. The searing pain of the obedience disk burned his neck and was slowly poisoning his muscles with its venom. The Hulk's eyes went white with rage even as his body betrayed him - forcing him to a kneel.

Then the world around him seemed to suddenly shatter. Bolts of energy cracked open the heavens with a cry so deafening only a god could make it. Hulk was falling, again down to the sands, and even in his poisoned state he heard the rage and felt it reach out to him.

Poison burned through Hulk’s veins, spreading quickly. Each movement he made in protest, trying to fight it, only moved the liquid deeper into his body. Oblivion took Hulk within seconds, in the middle of the battle, before his final task was done. If he could not save himself from the enemy which infected his very being, how could he save all the slaves?  
Even as he lost consciousness, he could feel the substance taking over his body, blazing every single atom in its path. Hulk recalled the gamma radiation which had enabled the creature within him to materialize, and he remembered the unrelenting pain that had gone along with that life-changing moment. But this was worse. Much worse. That had rearranged his body; this was destroying it.  
It was the worst kind of injury, Hulk thought, to know you were dying but not be able to do anything about it. He was paralyzed, blacking out but still aware enough to feel the poison working its way through his blood, turning his body into a system perfectly designed to kill itself.  
Through the shadows of his mind, Hulk could feel he was being moved. And, although he did not know how much time had passed, someone was taking care of him. He could not be in the arena any longer, for there were no soft surfaces in the sand pits. In the arena there were also no callused hands, which applied cold compresses and tended to green flesh.  
Everything hurt, but Hulk managed to open his eyes just a small crack. The light burned and he closed them quickly, not yet ready to return to the land of those awake. But something had gotten through. A glint of silver. A flash of azure. Loki.


	3. Part III: Loki

Loki was getting fed up. He was no good at things like this - bodies and flesh and the patience required for the caring for others. This was Thor business, or even women's work; Loki spared himself a few seconds of jokes in that vein before returning to the matter at hand. He had tried to magick the poison out of Hulk's system, but it hadn't done anything at all, as he knew it wouldn't. It was poison of the flesh, physical and thick, and only time and care would get it out. Loki was not good at time, or care.

It had been two days now since the uprising in the arena. Loki had dragged Hulk out as soon as he had fallen, so he had not directly seen the results of their uprising, but it seemed to have been very successful. Most of the slave owners were dead, and the obedience disks had been turned off. The former gladiators were massing, planning for the future. Hulk was a hero now, Loki thought with a scowl. Just like he wanted. A hero in a shivering, poisoned lump of jade-colored flesh. That ought to teach him, thought Loki. Heroes get poisoned to death, and if Loki hadn't been there to rescue him then he would be dead, and no good to anyone. Not to his gladiator brothers and those slaves he cared so much about, and certainly not to Loki.

He was not so much good to Loki now, either. Loki sighed and flashed the air in his hut green again. He was getting good at matching the colors of his flashes exactly to those of the Hulk, a project he had taken up during one of their many irritating conversations. It had turned out to be more difficult than he originally thought; the Hulk wasn't one shade of green, he was many. The green of the cheeks of his face versus the green of his chest or shoulders, the almost blackish green of his feet, the soft light green of the palms of his hands, like grass. And those eyes - constantly shifting, deepening when he was thinking hard, turning brilliant and almost opaque when he was raging. Loki used that color now to get out his frustration, the color of the Hulk's eyes at his most angry and powerful, a flash of electric green, almost neon. He hadn't seen that color in two days, and Loki was feeling like he missed it. He missed powerful omnipotent angry brutish Hulk. Puddle-of-pained-goo Hulk was much less exciting.

There was a noise like boulders rolling down a mountainside - the Hulk was stirring. Waking up, finally! Loki rushed over and crouched on the floor near that massive head.

The massive eyelids, each the size of dinner plates in Asgard, finally lifted, and those emerald eyes peered out, dark and deep, the same verdant hue of sun-dappled trees deep within a forest.

"Loki?" The voice was like an ocean wave, deep and impenetrable and so low Loki could feel the vibrations at the back of his spine.

"You're awake, finally," said Loki, trying to conceal some of his glee.

"How...long?" Hulk asked tentatively.

"Have you been here? About two days. Are you healed now?"

Hulk's eyes closed and his head hit the floor again with a crash that shook the walls and the ceiling. Loki fidgeted, crouching there on the floor, his eyes roving over the Hulk's arms and shoulders, life coming back to the muscles, rippling and moving under that mossy skin. It was like he could see the color returning before his eyes, like new spring grass shooting up.

"The slaves...my brothers?" said Hulk. "P'Latarii, is he dead?"

"I think so," said Loki. "The gladiators seem pleased about the outcome."

"You THINK so?" Hulk was starting to sit up now, bringing Loki's face in line with his endless rows of abdominal muscles, surging and flattening as he brought himself upright.

"I have not spoken to them directly," said Loki. "But all seems to have gone well."

"What have you been doing for two days?" Hulk was glaring at him.. This should probably bother Loki, but mostly he was excited to have a Hulk back who could sit up on his own and talk and glare with those big deep eyes and clench his massive hands into fists and Loki just could not be too worried about anything else. 

"I have been here, trying to get you to wake up," said Loki. "Obviously, I was successful."

"Here?" Hulk's eyes had widened into something Loki couldn't quite read. The more subtle expressions were harder on such a massive countenance; sometimes they drowned in all that green and those immense eyebrows. Loki was getting better though. This was...confusion, mixed with something else he couldn't identify.

"Yes, here," said Loki. Now he was getting irritated all over again. It was one thing to be playing at being caring and good, but to not get any thanks for it was just unacceptable. "You are absolutely no use to me poisoned and incapacitated. I needed you to wake up."

"No use to you?" Hulk was definitely glaring now. Loki found himself rather fond of that glare. "What about all the people we are here to help? What about those enslaved and suffering? How could you leave them?"

"'We are here to help'? You are here to help," said Loki.

Hulk growled, pulling his chest down so that he was actually face to face with Loki, their noses almost touching. Hulk's nose was as wide as Loki's whole face, he couldn’t look into both huge eyes at once. Loki felt something run through his body, travelling up his spine and then back down, making him feel on edge and worried, but also excited and loose. The Hulk was dangerous, he knew that.

"Of course," said Hulk. "God forbid Loki the god ever think of anyone other than himself and his endless schemes and plans and plots. How's that going for you now, puny god?"

Loki's eyes blazed, and the light around them started to crackle. He remembered that moment, so many years ago, lying on the floor of Stark Tower, helpless and hurt, staring into these endless green eyes, the ones he was looking at now.

The tension in his body was tight - like a bow string - and he, like the arrow, perilously on edge and ready to fly. The Hulk thrilled him in a way nothing and no one else ever had. Loki, the god of mischief, he'd always been after something, thing he could control. Why be drawn to the Hulk at all? Loki knew with all of his being that the Hulk could not be controlled. The Hulk could barely control himself. 

But, oh, how his body reacted. Here he was, so close to danger, so close to the first being who had ever really hurt him (the first, but not the last, he had Thanos to thank for that). And he loved it. 

Loki's body swayed as if faint, as if without permission, infinitesimally towards Hulk, before taking a step back. 

"Well, you’re alive, for one." The steadiness in his voice surprised himself and he regained some of his usual confidence. Pointing his staff at Hulk and giving it a little twirl he began to pace the room. "And since I have wasted months on you thus far, an alive Hulk seems like a much better investment than one who is dead." 

The Hulk scoffed, and in a murmur that rumbled like far off thunder he said, "Yes, an investment. The little god sees me as something to be owned as well - are you my new master? Should I bend my knee and take to the sands of whatever planet you choose?" Hulk's laughter ripped through the air like a strike of lightening, and Loki's soul felt singed from the contact. "You're redeemed, little god, or so your coward brother says..." 

The Hulk moved into Loki's space, and though Loki was not facing him he could feel the warmth of Hulk’s chest - the size of Odin's throne - spread across his back. He must be inches or less from the feeling that hard warm flesh, the same that he had spent so long caring for, pressed against him. Loki let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. 

Hulk breathed in, through his nose and released - his breath moving the black locks of Loki's hair and cooling his neck, goosebumps following in its wake. 

"No." Hulk's voice sounded impossibly soft and tantalizingly close, "I know what you want from me." 

Loki also knew what he wanted.

Waves of heat rolled off of Hulk, scorching Loki. Loki wondered briefly if this was what it felt like standing too close to the sun. Was this what being burned alive was? He had always thought fire a terrible road to death, but now he found he might have been incorrect.

Was it the poison that had burned through Hulk’s veins that left him so much warmer then Loki could ever have imagined? Fever had wracked Hulk’s body not long before, this could be a side effect. Or was it something else? Loki preferred not to think so. 

The Hulk seemed to have his own gravitational pull. And even with his eyes closed, Loki knew he was leaning closer and closer to the beast.

Hulk laughed softly, a guttural sound. "But do you know, little god? What you want from me?"

Loki scowled. This was hardly how he did things. Loki the god did not get teased. He was not seduced. He decided what he wanted, and he took it. Man, woman, whatever. He took people just like he took everything else. Want, that was what Loki was good at. Wanting, and taking.

He spun around and reached for Hulk, grabbing him by the shoulder and the chest, a hard grip that would bruise a normal mortal. Hulk's skin was on fire under him, feverish and hard and smooth, not the clammy sick flesh he had caressed and soothed for the past two days. There was a fire in those muscles now, an inner force animating them now that the Hulk was awake. His body was awake too, responding, shuddering under Loki's touch, a slight tensing of surprise before relaxing, coiling and uncoiling.

"Are you sure, Loki?" said Hulk. One massive arm wrapped around Loki's entire body, lifting him and pinning him against the wall, squirming, and now Loki was very, very sure. "I could tear you apart."

Loki felt his breathing deepen and go faster, and his tongue came out of the corner of his mouth without meaning to. "Say that again," he said huskily.

Hulk's eyes narrowed and darkened, a green so deep it was a black pool of oil, vast and irridescent. He looked hesitant, and worried. 

"I think you've forgotten who I am, monster," said Loki, and started to shift his shape, growing slowly larger. He darkened the room too, just to show off, and made himself glow green and gold - the green of Hulk's eyes at their most brilliant, the gold of his own horns. "You couldn't break me if you tried."

A slow grin spread across Hulk's face, a sneer and a laugh, but his eyes stayed dark and heated. Before Loki could say anything else, Hulk shoved him against the wall and his mouth against his. It was hard and wet, bruising and overwhelming. Loki hadn't quite caught up in size yet so Hulk's mouth was practically swallowing him, covering his lips, making it hard to breathe. The sun came back into the room and the glowing stopped as Loki abandoned all his magic tricks, focusing every ounce of his awareness to his lips, his face, the feel of Hulk's hand pressing his ribs back against the wall, bruising his hips, the back of his head sliding against the rough stone. He wrapped his arms around the Hulk's neck - they went all the way around the shoulders now - and held on tight, gasping and grabbing at his shoulders as his tongue darted in and out of Hulk's massive teeth, pushing for more and more, sloppy and open and wet. 

Hulk growled and picked up Loki's legs, wrapping them around his waist, holding him against the wall with one hand and pressing forward, rocking their hips together. Loki's head dropped back, staring at the ceiling as he panted, his eyes rolling closed as Hulk bit down his jaw to his neck before dragging his teeth against Loki’s shoulder. There was a sound of ripping fabric - was he wearing a shirt? No, not now. Had he been? He couldn't remember now, distracted by the feeling of those achingly hot pectorals against his own stomach, taut and hard and quivering now with anticipation and desire.

Loki raked his fingers across Hulk's shoulders, feeling the motion underneath, hot and constant. The Hulk's muscles were never still, never slack, always tensing and clenching and loosening and moving under that endless skin, moving against Loki, reacting to his fingers as they skittered across the skin. Loki let out a long ragged breath and looked back down, only green in his vision, sweat and skin and muscles. His sigh brought Hulk's attention back to Loki's mouth, and he captured it again, sharp and bruising and shattering, sparking a moan from Loki and an answering groan, low and deep and rumbling, from Hulk.

Loki brought his arms forward around the Hulk's shoulders, running his palms over the hot skin of his chest, resting them on his hipbones - massive things, like the sides of a boat - before going lower. As his long fingers dipped below the only fabric the Hulk wore, the monster roared, his whole body tensing, muscles jumping and twitching beneath his skin. 

"That's what you want, little god?" Hulk had pulled back and was gazing at him through heavy lids, pinning Loki's shoulders against the wall with his huge hands as Loki's chest rose and fell, and his breath came out in hot little gasps.

"Of course it is, you know that," said Loki, reaching his hands out to grab him again. "Also stop calling me that, I could kill you. Not that little."

Hulk guffawed at that, his whole chest shaking, his laughter blowing into Loki's face like volcanic air. He put one hand on Loki's waist and lifted him, Loki’s feet kicking in the air as Hulk walked into the back room of the apartment. When he got to the bed, Hulk stood against it for a moment, Loki squirming deliciously in his arm, hips sliding against the thick cords of muscle that were the Hulk’s arm. Having apparently made up his mind, Hulk tossed Loki onto his back, the force of the throw making him bounce and jarring his teeth. 

"Too many clothes," growled Hulk at him.

Loki looked down. His shirt long gone, he was now wearing exactly one piece of clothing, the leather pants he'd fashioned for himself once he decided he was going to be on this desert planet a while. He wore them all the time, and they were practically molded to his legs now. He looked up again, expecting to see Hulk's dark wide eyes again, but the beast was staring at his legs, too, in fascination. Loki hooked his fingers into the waistband, right over his hips, and started peeling the pants down over his thighs, slowly and deliberately; because they were so tight and he didn't want to make new ones, it took a lot of magic. He was barely two inches down, the leather revealing the white skin of his legs that never saw sun when Hulk made a guttural noise, a sharp gasp, and there was a massive green hand at his hips, ripping his pants into pieces. Loki inhaled sharply at the feel of cool air on his hips, the sharp sting of the fabric ripping against his skin, and the fact that he was now totally naked.

The Hulk wrapped his thumb and forefinger around Loki's ankle, massaging the bones and muscle he felt there. Hulk's eyes followed the gentle caress as it traveled up his leg, molding his palm around a knee cap and continuing up onto the thigh. Loki let out a high-pitched whine - distressed at the slow attention, already desperately hard and in need - which went ignored by the giant in front of him. Then the cruelest measure of all, Hulk continued, not to the swollen member in front of him, but to the side, as his hand circled Loki's right hip. The Hulk growled and pushed him down into the mattress, causing a yelp of pain to leave Loki’s throat. 

"I want to mark you. I want to bite you till you bleed, until there is nothing pale and pure left on your body." The Hulk's massive green eyes, almost black with lust, finally -- finally -- looked into his. Loki couldn't imagine how he must look to this man, this beast. He felt wrecked, he felt wanted. Whatever the Hulk did see, it seemed to entice him and he covered Loki's body with his own; air escaping Loki's lungs from the pressure, his hips moving as little as they could against Hulks stomach for any friction - desperate for release. 

Their faces were even and the Hulk bent to Loki's neck to smell him there before meeting his eyes again. 

"Your body is incredibly perfect. Smooth, flawless to the touch, as if you have never been touched by battle. Is that a part of godhood, to seem so pure when we know the truth?" The Hulk breathed, his nose tracing the sharp edge of Loki’s cheek. "You are perfect -- " Hulk reached between them his fist grabbing Loki's trembling cock. "Banner would have loved to have been fucked by this once - but we are not him."  
His eyes never left Loki's as he began to stroke him, slowly - so slowly that he felt as if he were dying. Nothing had felt like this - nothing had been as torturous at this. Not being Thanos's puppet, not finding out he was not Odin's, nothing - nothing was or could ever be like this. 

"Please." Loki did not recognize his own voice. Please was not a word that Loki, god of Asgard said! Please was for commoners and misguided fools. "Please...' he choked out again. His voice was wracked with need. 

"Please, what, little god?" The Hulk whispered, biting his neck - causing Loki to jerk up into Hulk's fist, rising only centimeters off the bed, even using all his strength. 

"I don't want Banner - please - I want you. I want the beast." 

Hulk growled deep in his throat, savage and unchecked, a sound of pure need and want. "You shouldn't say things like that," he said, pushing himself off Loki's body, his hands on Loki's wrists, keeping him pinned. Hulk's chest was now hovering above him, a foot away, heat radiating in the air between them. "I won't be able to stop."

Loki gasped at that voice, those words going straight to his cock, which was throbbing and twitching all on its own, nothing touching him except the air between them. Loki pushed himself with his forearms, lunging towards the Hulk as far as he could with his wrists still pinned, grabbing those green lips with his own, asking, begging with his mouth, putting all the desire he could into the only part of him that was able to move. He was frantic, needy, desperate, knocking teeth and biting too hard, exploring every inch of lips and tongue he could get, feeling Hulk’s resistance weaken, the heat in him rising too. 

As the Hulk pushed towards him, open mouthed and moaning, Loki pulled back, far enough to look into those endless green eyes. Hulk looked at him, Loki's black hair and pale head trapped between those massive green arms. "I don't," said Loki, his voice low and gravelly, more of a murmur than a sentence, "want you to stop. Don't stop."

The Hulk's last control crumbled. Fast enough that Loki barely saw it, he had grabbed both of Loki's lean hands with one of his huge green ones and pulled them over Loki’s head, holding them down while the other scrambled at the spot where their hips joined. Loki heard a ripping sound - what clothing was there left to tear off at this point? - and then, finally, finally, there was pressure on his cock, hot and rough, a hand grabbing him and Hulk’s own cock together, the friction maddening and glorious. 

Hulk was going too fast, much too fast, and too hard and too rough on his skin, the sensation on the verge of pleasure and pain, close to the edge. Loki's eyes were screwed shut, he was biting his bottom lip to keep from screaming, his shoulders squirming, digging into the bed. He was utterly gone, aware only of the blackness behind his eyes and the pain in his wrists, the feel of his muscles bunching and releasing as his body tried to contain all that was happening, the pressure in his cock building. 

It was too much, it was so much too much, pain and pleasure and this desperate need, that want that had been building within him for weeks, months, years, threatening to tear him apart. He had pushed and pushed the Hulk, needling him, wanting that carefully maintained control to break, break on him, over him, and he had gotten what he desired. He wanted more, harder, he wanted to be torn apart, but he couldn't form the words to ask for it, or any words at all from his ravaged throat. Loki was utterly at the mercy of this monster, this creature, this raw rage and power. He was weak compared to the Hulk, helpless, easily broken, pinned to the bed and used. His cock was leaking and so hard, so close, his skin stinging and raw from the friction.

Hulk groaned and stroked even faster, and Loki let out a desperate gasp, running his tongue over his teeth to try to stay in his own body. The pressure was building, he could feel himself close to breaking apart, and the Hulk too, his cock so hot and solid against his own. Loki moaned, his back arching against the solidity of the bed, angling for more, and with a desperate roar Hulk dove down onto him, his mouth completely covering Loki's own, desperately sucking in Loki's lips as he came. Loki couldn't breathe, couldn't see, he could only kiss back, hard and bruising and the world exploded as he came, a rushing wave roaring through his whole body, deep and long and leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. His ears rang and spots danced before his eyes as his whole body convulsed under the Hulk, pulsing and wrenching his muscles for what felt like years, waves of pleasure and that crystalline sense of satisfaction and peace that he almost never ever felt, freedom from the endless wanting. 

He lay gasping and sweating, his eyes slowly flickering open, surprised to see the ceiling looking the same as it always had. 

Loki propped himself up on his elbows, his hair sticking to his neck in long messy tendrils. Hulk was collapsed on the bed next to him, falling off the side, a mountain of green flesh heaving and panting, his eyes closed. Loki could feel the familiar stickiness covering his stomach and looked down. There were glistening tendrils of semen across his hips and pelvis, clear and... 

"Neon green? Really?" 

The Hulk chuckled raggedly, his eyes still closed but a grin coming to his lips. "Gamma radiation," he said. "It goes all the way through."

Loki lay back down, his eyes closing again as he slowly magicked himself back to normal size. "That's all right," he said. "I like green."


	4. Epilogue

The Hulk looked down at his prize. Pale skin that stretched for miles, ebony hair shining like darkness against the grey sheets, and finally the newest addition to their bed: steel grey cuffs that circled Loki's thin wrists. 

Loki had shrunk back to his normal size while sleeping, a form, if Hulk was to admit to himself, he liked better. There was something about the fragility of Loki's power that called out to him. Reminded him of himself, once, very long ago. 

Hulk smiled and fingered the cuffs - he had managed to make them and place Loki in them without waking him up. He must have truly worn the trickster god out to have him sleep so soundly. The Hulk moved over Loki, easily three times his size now. He could crush Loki like this: remove the air from his lungs and his spark from this world. If he could not breathe - he could not cast his magic - it would be so easy. 

Danger sung in Hulk's blood, hardening his cock. 

He leaned down and licked the edge of the flat metal cuff, where it met skin, worshiping his work and apologizing for it in one act. 

The taste on Hulk’s tongue was strong, harsh and metallic. Tingling on every sensor in his mouth, he felt something like pleasure unfurl in his stomach. It tasted like victory. It tasted like blood.

And the transition of the metal to the skin of Loki’s wrist caused Hulk to go back for a second lick. The smooth cold touch of the metal was even more enticing when compared to the soft, warm, untouched flesh on the inside of the wrist. Hulk could feel the quick pulse underneath, the hot blood rushing through Loki’s veins.

In his sleep, Loki murmured something unintelligible and buried deeper into the bed. Hulk was surprised by just how human of an action it was, how fragile and soft. Surely no god acted like this, slept like a tired puppy. No god could seem this breakable.

Hulk thought about waking him up - with his fingers, with his tongue? So many possibilities - but decided to let Loki sleep. There would be time for that, all of that, later. They - ageless gods, super creatures, unchanging forces of nature - they had all the time in the world. 

He pulled away from the wall and sat back on his heels, looking down at Loki. His skin was so smooth and white, the light from the window bouncing off the planes of his face, the hollows under his eyes, the space under his cheekbones. He looked...peaceful. Safe. Trusting. A smirk started on Hulk's lips. Breakable. Bruiseable, all that white skin. He could see the veins running underneath it, the pulse in the hollow of his throat, so close to the surface. 

Loki would wake up and feel the cuffs and be spitting mad at first, like a cat, shooting bolts of light around the room until he calmed down, remembered where he was, who he was with. And then he would relax into his restraints, staring up at the Hulk with those insane eyes of his, blue and electric (Hulk considered waking him up, right now, just to see what those ever-changing eyes looked like in this exact second), watching and wanting and waiting to see what Hulk would do to him next, helpless and at his mercy.

Not really, of course. Hulk was under no illusions that a cuffed Loki was any less dangerous than the regular one. Any more, he realized, than a Hulk merged with Bruce Banner - controlled, restrained - was less dangerous than who he used to be. If anything, he reflected, he could do more damage now, careful damage, damage with pinpoint accuracy and cruel cunning behind it, harder and stronger and fiercer than he'd ever been, before.

But he didn't. 

Usually. 

Unless, of course, he really, really wanted to, and some trickster god from a far off planet who was just stirring and opening those ice blue eyes was really, really asking for it. And then, of course, he would.


End file.
